I am not sure how to write this post without coming off as a holiday hater. Nobody likes a holiday hater. But, Halloween– it’s on my very last nerve. I, for one, cannot wait until November 1, my new favorite day of the year.
Part of the issue is that we started celebrating Halloween in mid-September. Our pumpkin rotted before the first leaves fell. So, some of my distaste for Halloween is sheer fatigue. We’ve costumed up the kids no less than 6 times this October, and I have about 718 photos to prove it. I will spare you that.
But seriously, remember when Halloween was one stinking night? When did it spawn into six weekend days scattered throughout the fall?
And, I can’t really say I decorated the house, because a lone gourd and a plastic Halloween table cloth does not a decorated house make, but I am sick of staring at that shriveled up gourd, and the table cloth? I’m burning that tonight.
This morning, I actually felt a tiny flicker of Halloween love remaining in my cold, shriveled heart. “It’s the 31st! We made it! If I can just get through today….”
Famous last words, people. Please carve them on my headstone. Or into the Jack-o-latern that you place on my grave every Halloween.
I should have known that Simon sleeping in until 6:05 AM was not necessarily a good omen, though it beats the candy corn outta hearing him bellow for me at 5:20 AM. For her contribution to the morning, Sadie crawled in my bed around 6:30 AM, but fell back asleep.
It should have been perfect. Except. Except, she rolled over at 7:20 AM when I was furtively typing a blog post. Ya’ll, she looked right into my eyes and said, “Mitt Romney.”
What the caramel-coated fudge did that child just say to me?
So I said, “What did you say, Sweetie?” She repeated, lazily, “Mitt Romney.”
I hate to school my kids so early in the morning, but they bring it on themselves. “Sadie, it’s customary to greet your mother with something less inflammatory. How about ‘Good Morning,’ or ‘You never loved me’? Don’t come at me with ‘Mitt Romney’ before noon.”
But, I meditated for a few minutes and pulled myself together. For the kids.
The middle part of the day was okay (because Simon was asleep and Sadie was at school), but before that everywhere we went store clerks (at the UPS Store, the grocery store, and the dry cleaners) gave my children handfuls of candy. Without asking me. “Hello! Can you see me? I am the one holding the Benjamins that will pay your ass so don’t you dare give junior here a Charleston Chew.”
Have you ever tried to get a Whopper away from a toddler? There were tears, there was rage, and there were bloody surrenders. (Mine. I am the one who surrendered.)
Then, the trick-or-treating.
I rallied, people, I really did. I pulled out our entire costume array once again. Both of my angels opted to wear costumes roughly 2 sizes too small, so Simon donned a Mickey Mouse get-up that was designed for a six-month old baby. I am pretty sure his junk was smushed up in that red plush long enough to have done long-term damage. (To his future wife: you may have to adopt.) And Sadie? She decided she had to wear the pumpkin costume that was meant for an 18-month old. The good news was that both kids waited until we stepped out the door to complain about how their costumes hurt.
Can I say one more thing about those costumes? Both ensembles required tights. Do you know how slippery tights are? Both of my children fell off stools, and stairs, and chairs all night long. My nerves are still clattering from the phantom sounds of my children’s heads hitting our hard wood floors. Next year, we are either getting carpeting or banning tights.
I know I sound like a crank. Frankly, I am. I should probably just settle on the couch with Sadie’s stash and let the Laffy Taffy love the pain away. And I will, as soon as I finish this post. But, it’s not going to be with some fruity candy– I want the Mounds, the Reese’s, and the Butterfingers. I’ve earned it.
So long, Halloween, don’t let the door hit you on the ass!